Also, Angels
by somethingsdont
Summary: How Rachel Berry convinced Santana and Brittany to be in her Run Joey Run video.


**Title**: Also, Angels  
**Author**: somethingsdont / zerodetorres at livejournal  
**Characters**: Brittany/Santana, Rachel  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Length**: 2,175  
**Timeline**: 1.17, Bad Reputation  
**Summary**: How Rachel Berry convinced Santana and Brittany to be in her _Run Joey Run_ video.

* * *

"Santana."

"No."

"Santana, please consider this."

"No fucking way, Berry."

Rachel turns to Santana's blonde companion, eyes wide and hopeful. "Brittany?"

"No," Santana answers.

Rachel huffs irritably, hands shooting to her hips. "I wasn't speaking to you, Santana."

"Well I was, and the answer is no. We're not going to be in your lame video, okay? Glee club might be your life, but it isn't ours. You want some bodies, go check out the theater geeks, or pick up some pimply kid from band. We don't have time for your shit."

"I just need two actresses—" Two fingers immediately fly up to point to the two Cheerios. "—to play the part of two angels who will appear in the opening and closing sequences. Would you like to see my storyboard?"

Santana crosses her arms over her chest. "Listen, Man-Hands. Take that storyboard and shove it where the sun d—"

"_Angels?_"

The two brunettes turn to stare at Brittany, whose hands are clasped tightly together in front of her. Brittany beams and rolls on the balls of her feet, her face lit up.

"San, did you hear that? We're gonna be angels!"

"No, Britt," Santana grumbles, "we're not going to be anything."

"But—_angels_, Santana." Brittany looks expectantly at her. "Angels," she repeats with purpose when she garners no reaction from the Latina. Brittany turns to Rachel. "Will we have wings?"

Rachel nods once. "Yes, that has already been arranged."

"_Wings_, San!" Brittany chirps excitedly as she tugs at Santana's arm. "What about a halo, Rachel?"

"That is not currently in the budget, but I will be sure to make that a priority should we have leftover funds."

"A _halo_, San!" Brittany does a little hop and ignores Santana's eye-roll. "What about the robes? What color are they?"

"The robes will be white," Rachel replies. "We will have to get you two measured, of course, but the robes will definitely be an elegant white."

"_White_, San! The robes are white! That's so pretty. We're gonna be _so_ pretty!"

"I'm _not_ doing this," Santana glowers, "and neither is Brittany."

"But Santana, we're going to look so hot," Brittany argues with a slight pout.

"White is a very flattering color on you, Santana," Rachel agrees. "It contrasts your complexion very well."

"No, okay?" Santana makes a face. "Maybe you have to play dress-up to make yourself look decent – which, doubtful you can – but I'm hot all the time. I don't need your stupid wings and robes and halos."

Rachel dramatically feigns resignation. "If you _insist_ on being stubborn on this matter, I suppose I could ask Tina to take your place. Her height may be an issue, but you can bend your knees, can't you, Brittany?"

Brittany nods eagerly. "Yeah, for sure, and I like Tina."

"_What?_" Santana demands, turning to look at Brittany. "No way. You're not going to be in this thing with Tina Cohen-fucking-Chang."

Brittany exaggerates a sigh. "I wouldn't _have_ to be if you just did this with me, San. Please?" She leans against Santana, resting her chin against the shorter girl's shoulder. "I'll do that thing you really like?" she offers suggestively. "With my tongue?"

Rachel smiles, evidently pleased with herself and the direction of the conversation. "Can I count on your participation, Santana? While I'm unsure what exactly Brittany is referring to, I imagine it is quite pleasurable for you."

Santana flushes. "Oh, for fuck's sake… whatever, fine, but only because I'd look so much hotter next to Britt than some dumb goth chick."

Rachel beams. Santana wants to punch Rachel in the face. Brittany grabs Santana and pulls her into a tight embrace, and okay, Santana wants to punch Rachel in the face a little less than before. Whatever. She does look totally smoking in white. And that thing Brittany can do? Yeah, totally worth a few hours with Stubbles.

.

"Unfortunately, I was unable to squeeze out the funds for a pair of halos. You must be aware of the preposterous cost of props, specifically headwear, and as much as I would've liked to replicate the image of a conventional angel as closely as possible, it seems I am held back by monetary allowances. Our authenticity may take a hit, but our angelic spirit never will."

Santana reaches behind her to adjust her wings. "Talk less, okay? You're working my gag reflex real hard today, Berry. And I mean, whatever. You used ketchup as blood. Don't think realism has been your primary concern."

"That's because Finn kept running off mumbling about a mailman as soon as his hand touched my breasts. It was very unprofessional. We ended up doing so many takes that we ran out of fake blood. Ketchup was the best we could do."

Brittany worries her bottom lip between her teeth. "So there's no halo?"

"There is no halo," Rachel confirms.

"That's too bad," Brittany says somberly. "I really wanted a halo."

"I'm very sorry, Brittany," Rachel apologizes.

"That's bullshit," Santana snaps. "Go get us some halos."

"Santana, I just explained—"

"Berry," Santana interrupts. "I swear to god. You promised Brittany a halo, and you are going to deliver on that promise. Clear?"

"It's okay, San," Brittany sniffs.

"It's _not_ okay. We're not even getting paid for this gig. It's a Saturday afternoon and we're at _school_, dressed up like a bunch of clowns."

"We're angels, San, not clowns."

"I know, B, I just meant—"

"But if we were clowns, we'd be smoking hot clowns."

"We would," Santana agrees with a calmness reserved for Brittany. "But the point is, we don't have to take Rachel's shit. If you want a halo, Britt, you're going to get a damn halo, okay?"

"You can keep the costumes," Rachel offers, "if you'd like."

Brittany lights up again. "_Really?_"

Rachel nods. "We're not the same size, so I wouldn't be able to reuse the dresses, and I have five pairs of angel wings in a box downstairs."

Santana grimaces. "That's totally creepy. On top of being obnoxious, you're really fucking creepy, you know that?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "I'm a _performer_, Santana. I need my props."

"You know what prop I need? A baseball bat. Guess what I'm gonna do with it."

"Juggle," Brittany deadpans. When the other two turn to look strangely at her, Brittany mimics an upwards tossing motion. "You know, when you throw the thing in the air and catch it again?"

"Juggle," Santana echoes blankly. "With a baseball bat. _One_ baseball bat. You thought I was going to take a baseball bat, and instead of swinging it at Rachel Berry's face, I was going to toss it in the air. Repeatedly. Like, for fun."

Brittany shrugs. "You said guess."

"I—" Santana shakes her head and laughs, tension draining from her body. She reaches out and quickly brushes a hand over Brittany's shoulder. "You're right, B, I did."

"I don't care about the halo, Santana," Brittany adds, leaning closer. She smiles and brushes a quick kiss across Santana's lips. "I just want to be here with you; it's fun. I'm glad you decided to do this instead of Tina. I mean, I like Tina, but I don't think she's as good a kisser as you."

"Obviously not," Santana grins, pulling Brittany closer.

Rachel clears her throat. "If you two could save your homosexual displays of affection for after this shoot, that would be wonderful."

"Rachel Snotface Berry, if I get one more—"

"My middle name is Barbra."

"I don't have a middle name," Brittany supplies unhelpfully.

Rachel turns to Brittany. "Do you even have a last one?"

"Okay, everybody shut up," Santana growls. "Let's get this thing over with before I projectile vomit all across this hallway."

.

"Smile, please. You two are supposed to be angels. It is very difficult for me to capture the essence of an angel if one of you would seem more at home in a cemetery than at the gates of heaven."

Brittany flashes a row of white teeth. Her enthusiasm borders comical. "But I'm smiling. See?"

"You're fine, Brittany," Rachel reassures. "It's Santana's perpetual scowl that needs to be rectified."

Brittany nudges Santana with her elbow. "San, Rachel wants you to smile." She points to her mouth as she flashes her teeth again. "Like this."

"I'm smiling," Santana grumbles, forcing the corners of her lips to curl upward, just slightly.

"No, not like that," Brittany says disapprovingly as she reaches for Santana's face. "Like _this_."

Santana takes a step back as Brittany's hands knead and pull at Santana's cheeks. "Quit it, B, stop trying to adjust my face. God, Britt, you can't just—_mmph_."

Brittany's lips are soft and warm and insistent, and the blonde manages to pull a whimper and half a smile from Santana. Brittany beams as she pulls away, studying her handiwork.

"You have a really pretty smile, San."

"Well," Rachel cuts in, "that was unexpected but certainly effective. Though in the future—Hey. Hey, stop that. Brittany, Santana, please refrain from making out as it's not conducive to—Cut. _Cut!_"

.

"You're not hitting the note, Brittany."

"Leave her alone."

"Santana, she's not—"

"I said shut the fuck up and get that wheelchair kid to auto-tune it. Britt, babe, you're doing great."

.

"Who's Joey?"

"Just a guy in the song, Britt," Santana dismisses. "It doesn't matter."

"Yeah, but…" Brittany tugs nervously at her wings. "Why is he running? Is there a marathon?"

"It's actually quite a tragic tale," Rachel pipes up. "Joey's lover's father is out to murder Joey in cold blood because he discovered that Joey had impregnated his daughter."

Brittany scrunches up her nose in disgust. "Joey had sex with his _daughter_? Isn't that like, gross?"

"No, Brittany," Rachel sighs, "Joey had sex with Joey's lover, Julie. Julie's the daughter."

"Joey's daughter is Julie?"

"Joey doesn't have a daughter. Well, unless the child Julie is carrying is a girl, I suppose, but she gets gunned down by her father at the end of the song, so that becomes an irrelevant point."

Brittany's face falls. "Julie _dies_?"

"Yes."

Brittany's eyes widen, and a faint quiver manifests on her bottom lip. "And her baby?"

"Her baby presumably also dies, yes."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Berry," Santana cuts in, pulling a suddenly-inconsolable Brittany tightly against her chest. "Why'd you have to go and tell her that? Now she's going to get nightmares." She brushes a quick kiss against the crown of Brittany's head. "Julie's fine, B," Santana murmurs. "Besides, if we're angels, we get to see Julie and her baby again in heaven, okay?"

Santana feels pretty lame as soon as the words are out of her mouth, but Brittany beams and nods like it's the most brilliant piece of wisdom she's ever been offered. Santana smiles back, then turns briefly to Rachel.

"Not a _word_, Berry."

"I wasn't going to—I mean, I think it's very sweet how much you obviously adore Brittany."

Brittany giggles against Santana's chest, and Santana scowls.

"Rachel Berry, I'm going to knock your goddamn teeth out."

Brittany lifts her head and presses a pacifying kiss against Santana's jaw.

.

"That was perfect."

"Fucking _finally_."

"Thank you very much for your—"

"Yeah, whatever." Santana reaches behind her to unclip her wings. "Not like it's gonna happen again."

"It was fun though!" Brittany sighs dreamily. "Wasn't it fun, Santana? To be angels?"

"Sure, Britt," Santana returns with a grin. "Making out with you was hot, even if a certain tranny was always hovering nearby like she wanted in on a piece of the action, which, _ew_."

Rachel reddens, more out of anger than embarrassment. "I told you two on numerous occasions to _stop_, and you blatantly disregarded my suggestions."

Santana sneers. "Choosing between obeying you and feeling Brittany up? Nooot the most difficult decision I've had to make in my life. Let's be honest here."

"Regardless," Rachel says, holding her chin up, "I appreciate the favor, and though we ran horribly behind schedule due to your inability to suppress your sexual urges, the end result is fantastic and will add an exciting component to my Run Joey Run video."

"Um, yeah, whatever. Come on, Britt, we're leaving."

"Bye, Rachel! Thanks for the dress and the wings!" Brittany calls over her shoulder as she lets Santana drag her away.

"I don't know _how_ you talk me into these things," Santana grumbles.

"Well," Brittany replies inattentively, "this time, I promised to go down on you. That usually works."

Oh, _right_. Santana brightens considerably.

.

(A week later, Brittany shows up at Santana's bedroom door in a long white dress, a pair of wings clipped to her back. Santana is cursing Rachel fucking Berry in her head when Brittany grins mischievously, steps inside – nearly knocking over Santana's lamp, but whatever, lamps can be bought and that one's ugly as shit anyway – and asks Santana if angels have sex too.

Oh, hell to the fucking _yeah_, angels have sex. They totally have like, a lot of sex.)

_fin._


End file.
